“‘Cause I’m a RENEGADE! Never Been Afraid To Talk About Anything! ANYTHING!”

Last night, I was told that I no longer rant on this here rant-blog of mine.

Yep. A devoted reader who has been with me from week one of my creative trip (or tripping) has admitted the following: Were he to join my readership now, he would view me very differently from the hot-tempered, opinionated, loud-mouthed, pain-in-the-ass, pro-woman woman that began doing her rant-blogging two-thirds of the year ago.

“You sound like a writer now,” he said, lingered a bit and added: “But I would still want to ask you out though. Maybe even more so!”

Mmm-kay.

“You used to sound so angry, almost bitter,” another one granted his opinion, the other day. And then, he did actually ask me out.

True that: What started this project originally was my decade-long participation in gender wars (and I’m not really sure mine was winning). But having never published on the topic of dating before, I had a lot to unload.

Now: I’ve been writing — for years! I’m talking as soon as I could make sense of the Russian alphabet (which is NOT an easy task). Later on, after attempting to master the English alphabet (a slightly easier task), I would begin writing for cash. It was mostly criticism, at the time; but with the exception of my editorial bits for the college newspaper, I rarely indulged myself in publishing my rants. And as far as relationships went, all that stuff was being kept secret in my journals. (Speaking off: Where the hell are the ones from high school? Oh, boy!)

Before embarking on this year’s project of blogging, as a devout nerd that I am — I first did research. A shit load of it! For hours, I would sit in front of my aged computer and measure myself against the blogosphere full of other opinionated — talented or just loud-mouthed, or both — writers. Could I really do this? At the time, I was at the beginning of a new relationship, so I thought what better way to introduce my inner workings of a nerd to my partner. In a way, I was flaunting the side of me I was no longer willing to tame: I’m a writer. Deal with it!

And from the shit load of my research, two particular pieces of advice got branded into my nerdy brain:

One: You must publish on a regular basis. Your readers expect it.

And,

Two: Make sure it’s authentic — to you.

It made sense. The entire purpose of my public coming-out as a writer was to seek my readership. Before entertaining my entering the blogosphere, that readership was a mere daydream of mine: It would have to happen in an old-fashioned way, after years and years of working on my manuscript — and then a few more years of trying to sell and finally publish that thing. A career of a blogger, however, promised to give me a shortcut: The process of publishing seemed instantaneous.

However, back in those days, even I could not have predicted that there was nothing instantaneous about it: I don’t know about the other talented or loud-mouthed colleagues of mine, but each day, it takes anywhere between four to five hours to write, continuously edit, post, repost — edit, again! — and promote the damn thing. It’s a shit load of work!

But then again, I knew that dedication would not be scarce in me. As for the authenticity, I had to make sure that the topic to which I devoted these four to five hours a day would be exciting enough to ignite my passion. And because I generally don’t half-ass anything in life — neither in art, nor in relationships — I knew I would have to write about it every day. Because that’s why I was entertaining entering the blogosphere in the first place, right: for the instantaneous readership?

What topic could be more exciting than love, I thought. And even then, I knew that by love I meant a state of my soul — not a tedious or confusing chase of the opposite gender while fighting these frustrating gender wars, in which I myself was definitely NOT winning. At first, I would start writing about dating and would hope that all of the other subjects of my love would follow. (They did.)

The very first story I instantaneously published was a bit inspired by my dating experience as one man’s rebound. Some of it was fictionalized (um, about ten percent of it); and the rest — was pathos, which was true to the rebound nature of that relationship. And right off the bat, I wasn’t mellow in my writing. No: I was hot-tempered and loud-mouthed. Having written the piece years ago in my journal, I began amending it for my readership (i.e. molding it into art). But even then, months before I would finally publish it, I began to be aware that the driving force of my writing was not just love — as a permanent state of my soul — but compassion.

Because in actuality, what made me a writer in the first place was my life-long fandom of the human race. That’s what all those tomes and tomes of journaling had been about. And long before I would become a writer — and even longer before I would become a blogger — I was a devout reader: A nerd. I studied humanity, devoured tales of its nature. And in those tales, I always managed to find some hope, and plenty of love.

Two-thirds of the year later, the style of my writing has indeed changed. I no longer rant on the topics of dating, and I especially no longer attempt to write about relationship advice. Look: I am not an expert on that. I’m just a toy soldier in this silly, frustrating fight between two camps of lovers. But what I do have some expertise in — is living a life of compassion: A life driven by a loving spirit.

And speaking of love (for the sake of my instantaneous readership still interested in asking me out): Yes, I am a single woman. I am a hot-tempered, opinionated, loud-mouthed pain-in-ass; disciplined, hard-working writer whose greatest subject — is love. Neither in my private nor public life do I disguise it: I’m an artist. Deal with it!

And even though I anticipate that with this year’s coming-out as a writer, I had made my dating life even more complicated and frustrating, the actual loving — has gotten easier. After all, I practice it every day, in my writing. The art has gotten easier as well; and there is nothing I would rather do, on a daily basis, than to write four to five hours — in pursuit of my DAILY, instantaneous readership.